


we now interrupt this personal crisis for dinner and a show

by prettyshiroic (kcgane)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 2x07, Awkward Conversations, Developing Friendships, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Hair Braiding, Introspection, Season 2, Talent Shows, allura and keith have talks, in which keith doesn't go to the space mall you'll find out why, the space mice are very sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: “The mice have planned dinner and a show. I’m sure they would quite enjoy having another guest to entertain.”Glancing down at one of the mice, the yellow one he doesn’t know the name of, Keith raises an eyebrow. If it’s possible for a mouse to glare, then that’s exactly what it’s doing. It seems to be suggesting he cannot say no. The others are nudging their heads towards Allura encouragingly. This is not an invitation to join them. Keith is going to sit and eat the dinner, and he will be watching their show. There’s a chance he could walk away, but the yellow one is still glaring at him. Ha. Funny.His entire resolve is being compromised - by mice. It’s a little ridiculous.“Sure.”It’s almost as ridiculous as his entire life hanging off the edge of his own knife.





	we now interrupt this personal crisis for dinner and a show

**Author's Note:**

> for Platonic vld week prompts:
> 
> Day 3 (Oct. 31): TRICKS / Treats (Halloween)  
> Day 5 (Nov. 2): CHANGE / Growth

“Now let’s ready a pod for our mission!” Coran chimes jubilantly, tugging at his moustache and striding forwards. “We need to get in, find the scaultrite lenses, and get out-”

As Lance rushes forwards with Hunk and Pidge closeby, Keith trails behind. It doesn’t take long for the shenanigans to start. Lance calls shotgun, and Keith agrees with Hunk’s protests completely. It’s _far_ too early to be calling shotgun. They’re not even in the pods yet. He doesn’t smile at the silliness of it all, though something in his chest lifts a fraction. Enough for the knot between his eyebrows to loosen.

Maybe a change of scenery would be good. Being stuck in the castle with dark _secrets_ is more than uneasy. Keith isn’t good with secrets, not intentional ones at least. Whilst he doesn’t make a conscious effort to divulge personal information and offload private things onto other people, he doesn’t shy away from the truth when honesty is required of him. Keith speaks his mind, says what needs to be said. He doesn’t sugarcoat or dance around issues. But he _does_ evade. And having a _secret,_ a very real and pressing secret that loiters closer to becoming a _threat_ , is a whole new kind of evasion. This type of evasion, Keith can’t control - it’s controlling him.

Now, the one thing _the only thing_ he’s always had by his side no matter what might just turn on him at any given second. It could pierce him in straight through the heart. His own knife could be the one blade that cuts deeper than any foe’s ever could, the one that betrays him and settles right there in his ribcage. His own knife, once a testament to strength of his will. Now its presence is shackled with a despairing potency. Already, it’s carving doubts into his bones that is difficult to ignore.

“Keith,” Allura’s voice tugs him back. “I wondered if I might be able to have a quick word.”

Well, that’s... definitely surprising. Keith’s eyes flit over to Shiro who shrugs before making haste to the black lion’s hangar. Whether because he has serious business to take care of, or to avoid being a potential fallback to whatever Allura needs, _Keith doesn’t know._ Either way, that’s not very helpful in the face of this situation. Any chance of finding solace in the fact Keith isn’t the only one unsure of what’s going on walks out the door.

And it’s not until he and Allura are entirely alone that Keith realises how out of his depth he really is. There’s a restlessness stewing behind gritted teeth. He should be heading off to that mission. But he’s not. He's here.

“Is something wrong, Princess?” Keith prompts.

The question spurs on impatience he can’t swat away, because Allura hasn’t elaborated and Coran seemed _pretty set_ on keeping this mission brief and brisk. So these words better be equally as brief and brisk or else Keith is going to miss out possibly _the only chance_ he has right now breathe without being strangled by his own insatiable fears. Not to mention traders and pirates are going to be there at the market. Coran himself said the Unilu were steeped in knowledge. He might not just be getting a reboot, but some answers too.

“Allura, please. There is no need for formalities between friends.”

Scrunching his nose, confusion smears over Keith’s entire face as he mulls her request over.

“Friends?” it’s blunt, far too blunt. But the bewilderment at the situation only grows harder to subside. Aside from their one outing in the pod, which Keith isn’t sure can really be considered as a social thing, Keith can’t recall a time where they’ve spent time together in the way friends apparently do. Allura is a leader in her own right, the one who readied the paladins and brought Voltron to fruition. _She’s also a princess._ And whilst Keith doesn’t hold titles and rank over people when it comes to judging their words and actions - everyone is equal in that - he can’t help be a little intimidated by the sheer confidence she exudes in her identity. She is set on her purpose. Allura knows _who she is and where she came from._

Allura is Altean.

The knife in his belt is Galra. It has to be. Ulaz had the same symbol on his knife. There’s no other logical explanation. And this revelation never fails to ripple unpleasantly through him. It’s not just him this information could hurt. The knife could cause wounds to all of those around him, be responsible for many scars that aren’t his own. Keith cannot afford for that to happen under any circumstances. He has to keep this to himself, until he knows more. _And he could know more out there._

“Well… yes.” Allura doesn’t sound offended by the question, but her shoulders slump in a telling way. Her foot drags towards her leg. “I’d like to think so.” Pause.

Allura tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. She’s timid - but in a stubborn kind of way. The juxtaposition leaves her intentions unclear. All Keith knows is that Allura constantly attempts to push through any ensuing awkwardness and unfamiliarity. Wherever it is and whoever it is. It’s just like by the pods a while back before they left the castle together. And just like then, Keith is hiding so much. It’s a mixture of self-preservation he’s ashamed of feeling, and the terrifying prospect of being the catalyst to Voltron’s undoing.

Abruptly, Allura’s posture goes rigid as if she’s realised something is missing in this very one-sided discussion. There’s a determined gleam in her eyes that Keith has always respected. It’s forged in the same persistent vow he wears on his sleeve, taken from the same code he abides by.

“Don’t you think so too, Keith?”

It’s delivered without any underlying accusation, but Keith can’t help feel judgement for the fact Allura has asked. She is just as uncertain as he is about the way they orbit each other. Their course is the same, their beliefs often align, but the gravity tugging them together doesn’t really have a name. Maybe it never will. There’s a notable pause. A long pause that says too much. Keith wets his lips, sucking in a shaky breath. _Friends._

“Uh...” He’s _distracted,_ focus stalling and eyes constantly flitting to the door because _he has to be on this mission._ He needs to be there. There is no way he can miss this for a spontaneous conversation that seems to be going nowhere. Pursing his lips, Keith clenches a fist and steels himself. He can’t wait around any longer. If Allura wants to talk with him privately, which is _out of place enough,_ then this is the wrong time. She’d understand that, surely. For the _mission._

“I’m sorry, Allura. But if there’s not a problem here then I - _I have to go_.”

Three paladins is more than enough for a mission this trivial. Lance had declared shotgun right here _in this room_ , so it’s highly unlikely any of them will be sticking around to wait for the extra person. Yet alone _the loner._ Keith doesn’t blame them either. Time isn’t exactly of the essence in this war, and he can’t be the only one itching to leave the castle and get a new change of scenery without the backdrop of the Galra Empire. But _god_ he is itching to join them. As he turns to leave, Allura’s voice catches on something suddenly too big to belong in this awkward exchange.

“There might be.”

Keith freezes. It takes every ounce of wavering self-restraint not to reach for the knife and push it further into the small of his back. Despite it already being concealed, carrying it around feels like he’s dangling right on the edge of its tip. Nobody is watching him that closely, _nobody knows._ People don’t watch him that way, they barely even see what resides beneath their presumptions of his character. And that’s _fine_. He’s used to it. But still, Allura has admitted to there being a problem.

Paranoia whispers in his ear. He’s listening for things that just aren’t there. Or maybe they are.

“It was probably Lance,” Keith says automatically and offhandedly as an attempt at some kind of joke. It has some relevance, because _whatever this was about -_ and it _can’t_ be about that it just _can’t_ \- could have something to do with the harmless fun that happens in the hallways when Keith is training. And whilst Keith wouldn’t throw his teammate under the proverbial bus for his own self-preservation, there’s a bitter sting that comes with knowing Lance, Hunk and Pidge have their jokes. Without him.

But _that’s fine._ They’re out here fighting a war, with barely enough place for an inch of downtime between training, strategising and fighting. Fun and games have little place - even if Keith sometimes mourns the better days in the desert where the quiet is welcoming and the horizon beckons him without expectations. That time has been and gone.

These days are all he has now, and they may well be numbered.

Keith has no proof of that - _yet -_ and the chance to find out more _evades him_ with each passing second. Evasive, everything is evasive. Even his own evasion.

“Actually, I am quite sure this concerns you and only you.” Allura wears a polite tightly pressed smile. Diplomatic. Proper. No, it’s _strained._ Surely that can mean _nothing good._ Something hot and sharp rises up inside Keith, a little too close to the full-blown panic that’s been lurking in his shadow. _She knows._ She knows about the knife. And she’s smiling because she wants to keep her pride and maintain dignity in the face of the greatest enemy. _Enemy._ He’s the enemy _he could be the enemy_ \- no.

No.

There’s no telling _what_ the blade means. Just because he has it doesn’t mean _he’s_ Galra. And Keith isn't one to jump to conclusions without having all the information and facts. He doesn’t have the whole picture yet, theorising is futile until he does. _But it’s all he can bring himself to do._ It does explain some things, how eerily connected he has always felt to mysterious energy, how he never really got sick on earth despite probably being well overdue in vaccinations and hospital check ups.

Closing his eyes, Keith exhales sharply. The breath is messy, tripping over itself. His heart follows in its stead, rocketing towards the danger zone. Hands grow clammy, Keith tries to pull himself back. _He has to._ Allura is perceptive and Keith needs this to play out with some level of decorum. If he has any self-respect left, this final move needs to be executed firmly.

Is there even a _problem_ with maybe, possibly, being Galra?

The Galra Empire is bad, but the _Galra_ themselves aren’t inherently bad.

 _Ulaz was Galra._ Ulaz saved them. Ulaz was good.

Ulaz gave his own _life_ to save Voltron, fought for what was right. Ulaz proved that not all the Galra are bad. And from an objective standpoint that should be obvious to anyone. But that’s the unavoidable schism - because _nothing about this_ is objective really. It’s impossible for it to be.

Whilst he and Allura share the same objectives in the mission, when it comes to the Galra Allura simply cannot look beyond her grief. The trip in the pods was insight enough to her views, the polarisation of their outlook. Keith doesn’t begrudge her for that. The one thing he understands is that he _can’t_ possibly begin to understand it. Not really. To say he does is _presumptuous._ Personal feelings are intangible, perhaps relatable to a degree but not translatable in the way facts are. Keith _knows_ he cannot fully grasp the magnitude of the loss Allura experienced upon stepping out the cryopod. Without her father. Without her home. _Ten thousand years later._ Keith thinks time cheated her in an underhanded cruel way. Because whilst the universe continued forwards, the wound was still weeping and raw and it was _bleeding_.

The Galra took her homeworld. The Galra haven't destroyed Keith’s home, nor have they been responsible for wiping out his people.

But they did take the closest thing Keith had to home.

Kerberos began with hope and promise, and it ended in unspeakable tragedy. _They took Shiro._ They took him; it makes Keith’s raw molten anger surge into something wild and _alive_ with its own teeth and claws. Without remorse, the Galra had done unforgivable terrible things to him. _They took his arm._ And that wasn’t where it ended. They took so much more than that. Harvesting everything Shiro had to offer, they took and took and _took._

Shiro endured. But Keith sees it.

Shadows tower over Shiro, squeezing tight around his wrists like chains. It doesn’t let up, not until Shiro is heaving and the shame to beg for freedom he doesn’t believe he deserves breaks over him in callous waves. There’s a flicker of despair that bursts in grey eyes before they grow vacant, the emotions detach from his voice in an act of restraint. _Restraint of himself._ Shiro is afraid.

Keith recognises it now, because he feels it too.

 _He’s afraid of himself._ He’s afraid of who he could be. _What he could be._ He’s afraid of the past tearing time itself open like it did with Allura, like it does for Shiro. He’s afraid time will catapult the past forwards, splinter the present place he stands - _destroy_ his future. And Keith is acutely aware - _afraid -_  that in his desperation to know _what it means_ , rationalising the good in the Galra is all he can do. Maybe he’s doing it for himself. Maybe this isn’t an objective assessment. Seeking out the good in the Galra dims the aching in his soul a little. But that’s not the reason he sees the good. It can't be.  _The good is there._ Ulaz proved that.

Still, It’s a bitter kind of irony. All this unvoiced yearning to belong somewhere is given a voice. Keith comes close to discovering his roots. Unlocking his past. And it’s _worlds away_ from anything he expected, from anything the team would readily accept.

“Allura,” he begins a little too fast.

To Allura, he is certain this knife will mean one thing despite it being the furthest thing from the truth: traitor. Galra. _Enemy._ Galra. The knife is Galra. It’s _Galra_ -

 _Allura, I swear I didn’t know -_ the frantic excuses die on his tongue. This is on him. It can’t be cut any other way. He’s had this knife his entire life, carried it and cherished it. Caring for it gives it meaning. Meaning is wasted if not pursued.

Mind reeling, Keith runs over the information he has again and again _and again_. It’s the only thing he can do to soften this inevitable blow, the moment he hands over his bayard and a new red paladin is appointed. Keith doesn’t bow to forces bigger than himself when the cause still has a fighting chance, but he would if it was the right thing to do for the mission and the team. There are other ways to pledge himself to the greater good. Keith can’t deny he’s already been weighing up his options.

“Allura,” Keith tries once more.

The alarming truth is, he has very few options here. _Escape options_ . Keith doesn’t run from his fears, he can withstand facing them directly. He can move on in spite of them, the fact he’s still standing here affirms this. However, butting heads with brutal truths leads to brutal bruises. And the brutal truth here is that _he has no choice but to run away from this_ . The reason why leaves a brutal bruise: this is a rejection of something Keith _himself_ doesn’t even know or understand yet. Of course it is a rejection. Allura knows. Somehow she knows. That’s why she’s pulled him aside.

And now, his time as a paladin of Voltron is over.

_It’s all over._

“I - I can explain…” He can’t. _How can he explain this?_ “I-”

Coran and the others have undoubtedly left the hangar now in the only pod they have. Shiro needs this time to hone his focus with the black lion. He could go to Red, slip into the seat and chart out a new course. But the red lion is a key part of Voltron, and there’s every chance _he isn’t._ Not to mention, the risks are far too high with Zarkon tracking them out here. It’s in mild horror Keith establishes there’s nowhere to run. Allura has him cornered.

“Oh,” Keith hitches a breath, hands trembling as Allura speaks. “My apologies. I should have made myself more clear. There is no need to explain. I just wanted to ensure you were getting enough rest.”

Keith blinks. His stomach drops enough to completely offset his balance. Wait. _What._

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he stammers, unsure how much more of this his nerves can handle. The whiplash of his own incessant turmoil is exhausting. It’s unpredictable and gutting. The weight of the dread pushes down onto his lungs. He can’t seem to catch a good breath, get a good handle on what is happening. If she doesn’t know then _what does she want to talk about?_ Allura doesn’t reprimand him for the title, yet visibly stiffens for reasons Keith doesn’t quite understand.

“You’ve lost me,” he admits.

He’s lost himself, too. He could lose so much more.

“I came to a realisation that perhaps the night we left in the pod, it may not have been the first time you’ve stirred late at night.”

Allura isn’t saying exactly what she means and in times like this it is frustrating. _Because Keith needs a straight answer._ The diplomatic nature of her speech could talk anyone in circles until the edges of her blunt truth are softened enough to appease the other party. Keith would prefer it if she just spoke her mind. She’s capable of it, and often _does so_. But there is an inclination to reach for compromise in more delicate situations, which means she considers this a delicate subject.

Folding his arms, Keith waits for this to pass. He can work with this. There’s no way Allura has any proof of his restlessness, that something cataclysmic is tearing him apart from the inside and threatening to rupture everything he’s dared to build for himself here.

“The training room logs reveal you have requested access in unusual hours consistently as of late.”

_Or maybe she does have proof._

“I didn’t realise there was a log,” Keith says quickly. He narrows his eyes, a defence. This wouldn’t be the first time things have been kept from the team. Allura immediately picks up on his caution. She builds her own defence fast.

“There was no need to bring it to anyone’s attention. It’s not something I purposefully put it place or monitored. The castle sensors simply detect everyone’s independent life signatures. And upon-” Clutching a hand to her chest, Allura averts her gaze. She’s deliberating on something, on whether she should say it. Keith wants her to say it, say _whatever it is_ and get this done. His head is throbbing, his eyes are stinging.

The knife burns.

Clearing her throat, Allura continues promptly. “Upon _my own_ travels at night, I happened to notice I was not alone in wandering.”

The apprehension wanes in the face of curiosity. Where did she go at night? It doesn’t feel right to take more than he should from this. Allura gave this information up to clear Keith’s caution, not because she really wanted to. It’s not entirely an earnest confession, and Keith isn’t comfortable at the thought of Allura feeling she _had_ to tell him something personal. That’s crossing a line.

“Oh.”

“Is there something troubling you that deeply?” she asks both brazenly and genuinely. The presence of both startles Keith, as does the question itself. Because it doesn’t sound like a question. It’s right there in her eyes. Allura _knows_ something is troubling him. She’s asking whether he can talk about it, whether she can be there to listen. Friends. It’s overwhelming, the fact she _wants to be there._ Mostly because the subject is one Keith himself can hardly handle himself. Fear slithers back up his spine unwillingly. Keith hates he can’t suppress it.

“I’m fine,” he barely manages.

“Good.” Allura smiles brightly, hands clasped together. Keith has a feeling she’s unconvinced, and is striving to keep this conversation from its inevitable plight. When the truth comes, Keith knows words will harden. Trust will be broken, even if _he didn’t know he doesn’t know god he has no idea._ It will be revealed and Keith will be at the mercy of an intensity he isn’t sure he was ever meant to survive.

On Allura’s shoulder, the mice appear. They’re squeaking, full of life. Somehow, their presence is calming. It reminds Keith of the cactus wren that nested in his roof in the desert shack.

“The mice have planned dinner and a show. I’m sure they would quite enjoy having another guest to entertain.”

Glancing down at one of the mice, the yellow one he doesn’t know the name of, Keith raises an eyebrow. If it’s possible for a mouse to glare, then that’s exactly what it’s doing. It seems to be suggesting he cannot say no. The others are nudging their heads towards Allura encouragingly. This is not an invitation to join them. Keith is going to sit and eat the dinner, and he _will_ be watching their show. There’s a chance he could walk away, but the yellow one is still glaring at him. Ha. Funny.

His entire resolve is being compromised - by _mice._ It’s a little ridiculous.

“Sure.”

It’s almost as ridiculous as his entire life hanging off the edge of his own knife.

\-----

The dinner turns out to be green space goo, not that Keith expected anything different. As the plate appears in front of him, the mice pridefully nudge the spoon closer to his hands. From walking from the bridge to the dining room, his hands are steadier. That’s something, at least. As if sensing some lingering unease, they push his hand insistently. Keith looks down at the plate, biting down a smile he can’t really commit to right now. The mice have done their best to present it as if it were a fine gourmet dish made by Hunk. Despite budding exhaustion, Keith doesn’t want to disrespect their efforts. Or Allura’s request to join her in this. Picking up the spoon, he starts to eat.

Keith doesn’t have much experience in this, but Hunk once said someone making food for you with care and love always tasted much better than food made for yourself. Somehow, it does. It’s the same thing they eat everyday. But it tastes different. It’s a little softer on his tongue, sweeter to digest. The yellow mouse that glared at him earlier now perches happily by his plate. Keith realises it’s expectant, waiting for some kind of feedback on the food. That _does_ pluck a smile from his lips.

“Thanks, guys.”

The yellow mouse nuzzles up to Keith’s hand in approval before dashing over to Allura. She’s is sat in her usual seat, at the head of the table. Keith, so unsure where on earth to put himself _because in the desert eating had become something menial rather than a social event,_ had decided to take the other head. Space was good. Especially with the secrets he carried. It had seemed more appropriate at the time to follow that skewed logic. But now they’re eating, the space between them is a visual representation of the distance they’re awkwardly trying to bridge.

Laughing, Allura sets down her spoon.

“Yes, it is delicious. Thank you.”

It’s a little embarrassing that Keith hopes Allura will address the mice by name so he can learn what they are called without having to ask in front of them. She doesn’t. Instead, she glances up at Keith with that same elusive smile from before. He doesn’t know what it means, but he holds his ground. Honestly, Keith is unsure whether to reciprocate. The secret he hides is draining him, and it _feels_ truly deceptive now he’s sat with the Princess of Altea. It makes sense to keep up the walls he spent years strengthening. For both their sakes. Allura’s smile wilts. The sight twists the knife deeper into his gut. _Maybe it’s better that way._

The silence stretches between them. And in that silence, Keith steals glances at Allura. Seeing her like this, away from missions, is notably different. He has his walls, granted. But Keith can see it better now there’s nobody else around. He built walls, Allura made gates. Unlike walls, gates can be opened at the will of the gatekeeper. Allura is a guarded castle, she _is_ the spirit and energy that moves the very castle they live in. Royalty is in many respects a restraint. As is the solitude Keith has grown so accustomed to in his life.

Here and now, one by one the gates open slowly and cautiously. Each gesture, each move is exposure. _Not evasion_ . Keith admires it more than he can possibly try to articulate. But he really does. Allura holds herself with poise and grace whenever she speaks. Keith holds himself with sharp decisive actions, always prepared for an oncoming attack and constantly moving enough to increase his chances of avoiding it. _Evasion._ Clearing his throat to catch her attention, Keith waits for her eyes to meet his. As she looks up, he takes a risk. Quite a big one in these circumstances.

Keith returns the smile.

That has Allura’s interest. Food forgotten about, she smiles back. It’s such an easy gesture, Keith wonders if it would still be easy if she knew.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura begins. “It’s nice to have company.”

_Oh._

It’s right there at the centre of her words, in her eyes. Another gate opens. Keith isn’t sure he should look but she’s letting him. She’s letting him observe this, letting him see the things she does her best to hide in the face of the missions and their objectives. What he hears, what he sees, startles him.

Allura is lonely.

Of all things, Keith had never considered Allura to be _lonely._ Allura is revered by the team, respected and constantly acknowledged. Her presence is familiar and sought out. _Allura is always there._ People listen to her, empathise with her. The paladins care about her, Coran cares deeply for her. She has so many people _right here._ Keith wonders if this is an equally new experience, if she’s really skittering around the corners just as much as he is.

Keith purses his lips, unsure what to say. But Allura has pushed things aside for him. She’s made time for him, and she didn’t have to do that. The least he can do is meet her halfway. And he _wants to._ For a moment, the knife isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Right now, all that matters is getting this right. Setting the spoon down, Keith speaks.

“What else are friends for, right?”

Allura’s eyes widen enough for Keith to notice, her smile grows into something that has the power to enrapture entire worlds. Keith is certain. One look is all it would take, and everyone would be mesmerised. Something about his response, _her smile,_ has the atmosphere shifting. The bridge they were crossing is behind them. From this point on, smiles become less strained. Conversation begins to flow better. Questions pass between them about all kinds of trivial things the universe and their mission has no time to usually indulge. Here, just for a moment, they can exist for the sake of simply existing. As people. Nothing more, nothing less.

It’s give and take. _Is your jacket customary on earth?_ Keith tells Allura about how when he first got the jacket it was longer and looked a bit different. He turns it inside out to show the messy bold stitches and explains how he modified it for the desert. It’s something he rarely has the opportunity to speak about, but it’s a project he is pleased with.  

 _“...So I took that extra material from the bottom that was in the way of my belt to make the collar and it stopped the sun and wind on my neck.”_ It also looks extremely _cool_ but Keith neglects mentioning that. It turns out he doesn’t have to because Allura admits it’s a very becoming and practical item of clothing. The praise has Keith sitting up in his seat. _You should be proud of your work, Keith!_

 _Have you been to a desert or - anything like that?_ Allura tells him about the kinds of environments Altea had, the animals, plants and rocks that existed there. That piques Keith’s interest. _I’m actually really interested in rocks._ Keith tells Allura about the small collection he had assembled once, that he’s been considering continuing it here in space. Only he hasn’t started. _Because he doesn’t expect to stay_ (but he doesn’t tell her that).

“That would be wonderful, you must!” Allura encourages. The encouragement alone is unusual for Keith, he’s not used to it. Shiro’s encouragement is soft and nurturing, firm yet reassuring. Allura’s is persistently audacious. She doesn’t seem to realise, either. “The rocks can serve as memories for all the things you have achieved.”

Keith hums thoughtfully at the suggestion, leaning a little across the table and far more comfortable in his seat. The distance between is the same, but it’s shrunk. It’s nice. Really nice.

“I never thought about it that way,” he admits.  

Things stay nice for the rest of the dinner, and then comes the show.

The space mice lead them down the hallway towards their grand arena. It’s the place Allura usually stands when moving the castle. Keith watches the mice hop onto the pillars in amusement. Huh. Well. They’re certainly making the most of their performance area. Green hops onto his shoulder, as if ushering him to his seat. There are cushions on the floor, undoubtedly taken from one of their rooms. Once Keith makes his way to the cushions, the mouse goes back to orchestrating the organisation of the stage. The others are carrying some small props. Yellow uses his nose to push things into place. 

“It seems they want to impress you,” Allura smiles behind her hand. “Their shows have not been this... _extravagant_ for some time.”

“I don’t even know their names,” Keith admits in a low voice as they sit down. He’s still calling them by colour. He does feel a bit rude about that, but it’s not like he can _ask them_ now. Too much time has passed. Apparently his words are funny, because a bright peal of laughter comes from Allura at his remark. Then she smiles with such open fondness at him Keith has to look away. Yeah. Maybe they really are friends.

_That makes it all so much worse._

The lighting dims, and the show begins. Enthusiastically, the mice begin flinging themselves off the pillars. As they fall, they catch each other and form all kinds of shapes in the air. They manage at least six shapes before reaching the floor. Keith is suitably impressed by their acrobatics. And that’s just the start of their theatrics. There’s a tightrope Yellow endeavours to climb. Keith has to sit on his hands to stop himself from cautiously cupping the rope in case the mouse falls. _For a mouse, it’s quite a drop._ By the time Yellow - Platt, Keith learns - makes it to the other side, Keith is joining Allura in deserving applause.

The show carries on with all sorts of tricks and spectacles. Green does a cool spin in the air before leaping between ropes. Blue makes things disappear and reappear at its command on the stage. Keith catches the glint of silver behind its back as the trick ends, but he pretends not to know where the coin went. Exposing a magician’s tricks is rude, even a mouse’s. Besides, they’ve spent time preparing this for Allura. Keith notes how Platt is checking on him constantly, as if assessing whether he’s enjoying the show. It’s endearing, coaxing a smile onto his face. He gives Green a thumbs up when they’re ready to try another trick. As Green glides through the air, Keith starts the second round of applause. Not out of courtesy, but it really was good.

“How long have they been doing this?”

“For as long as I can remember,” Allura replies between jubilant praise at their efforts. “They’re quite talented, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. Who knew all this time you had the true paladins of Voltron right here,” Keith says flatly. That draws another laugh from Allura. He must be doing something right if she’s laughing. _Maybe they are friends._

As the show ends, the mice begin packing down their stage. In the process, Pink has started slinging bits of Allura’s hair into what looks like some kind of braid. It’s terrible. Leaning over, Keith pokes Pink with a finger and gestures to the hair. Pink jumps out the way, settling on his shoulder. Perhaps Pink wants to learn, Keith isn’t sure. The braid is messy. But Keith is good with his hands, he can already make out what he thinks the pattern is supposed to be. Fingers hovering over the hair, Keith purses his lips. Allura is watching the others pack down the stage. She seems content and surrounded in the kind of peace Keith forgot existed.

It’s nice.

It’s a shame he might be the one to break it.

“Can I-?” he asks quietly, to which Allura glances over and nods.

Taking Allura’s hair between fingers, Keith starts weaving the sections together with firm precision. As expected, it’s a simple pattern. This shouldn’t take so long, if he can remember the right way to do this.

“Truly impressive, Keith. You are full of surprises,” she breathes with a small laugh. Keith gives a laugh of his own. He’d hardly call this that impressive.

“It’s not that hard,” it isn’t. “A little girl back on earth used to make me do it all the time.”

His smile fades at the memory. He hadn’t thought about Lauren, or that particular foster home, for a long time. Her hair had been dark and curly, difficult to braid. But Keith always did his best to get it neat. There had been something therapeutic about sitting there and letting his hands accomplish something good. Whatever happened, she had always been delighted with how it turned out, because _he’d_ been the one to do it. It had been a fleeting kind of comfort. Lauren and the foster home wouldn’t last. _It didn’t last._ Nothing ever really did. So Keith should’ve expected that the moment Lauren burst into tears because she really wanted him to be her brother but _he couldn’t be_ that it was already over.

Keith should _also_ have expected that this very moment would splinter in his hands. Braiding is easy enough. It gives his mind time to wander, and that’s dangerous. It’s been nice, spending time with Allura. The day has run smoothly - _too smoothly._ And that isn’t a pattern Keith is familiar with. He’s not an agent of chaos, but chaos continuously seems intent to forge its legacy on his shoulders.

Something tugs at his belt. Eyes widen because of what’s _on_ his belt. _No no no no._ And before he can stop it, Platt and the other mice are dropping his knife into Allura’s lap. Delivering his fate. There it is. The ending. This is the end. Keith releases the braid. The fire in his chest is burning more intensely. He wants to snatch the knife back, dive forwards and reclaim it, but Allura is now studying it with curiosity. _She has no idea what she is holding._ The material woven round the top of the knife covers the symbol. However, Keith knows it’s much looser than it should be because earlier this morning he had been staring. A few tugs in the right places and it’ll come undone. He will be undone, as will the terrible secret he isn’t sure what to make of just yet.

Keith bites down on his lip. Raising suspicions won’t do any good. He’s not sure what this is about _what the mice think they’re playing at,_ but Keith is now far from impressed. The show is over, and so is the fun. It’s probably not their fault. They don’t _look_ like they’re doing this to be malicious. Maybe they don’t know either and are curious about it. Either way, Keith is now the one in the spotlight. He is the one walking the tightrope, treading precariously across rope that could snap under the strain at any second.

“I’ve had it all my life,” he tries to fill the hollow silence and sound composed despite his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. _Please give it back, give it back._ It’s hard to seem relaxed when the object that could quite literally make or break him is sitting in the hands of another person it could make or break.

“I never thought much of it before,” Allura says. Her eyes trail across it, inspecting it carefully. “It’s a beautiful blade. The craftsmanship looks quite ancient.”

“You… know knives?” Keith asks before he can stop himself. Despite the curiosity, his fingers are burning. It’s too unsettling watching her handle it. This is too much.

“As Princess of Altea, my father taught me much about etiquette,” turning the blade in her hands, Allura tests the weight. Keith shuffles closer, holding his breath. “And he also taught me about all sorts of weapons. His favourite was always the blade, mine was the axe.”  

“Axe,” Keith repeats, attempting to digest that whilst failing to ease his growing apprehension. _Give it back, please give it back._

Passing the knife back to Keith, Allura nods. It’s such casual gesture. For Keith, it’s _huge_. The moment the knife falls back into his palms, relief is a pressing ache that is bruising him to the bone. He revels in the sensation of it. Even if it stings. It doesn’t matter. The truth is safe, for now. It hurts, but at least it’s only hurting him. Clutching the knife tightly, Keith waits for some kind of elaboration on her story. Allura hums to herself, instead. That’s all Keith needs to hear to know it’s a subject he shouldn’t press further. Pushing the knife back into place, Keith frowns.

“You’re more than just a Princess, you know.” Reaching for the strands of hair that came loose from the braid, Keith tidies up his work.

“I’ve often heard those words,” Allura smiles wistfully, hands folding in her lap. “Just never quite like that.”

“What do you mean?” Keith tugs the ends of her hair together, unsure how exactly he’s going to secure both the braid and their apparent friendship.  

“It wasn’t often that people on Altea reminded me I’m not special. More they _emphasise_ _d_  that I was, because I was a Princess.”

Keith freezes, eyes widening. _Shoot._ He’s messed up. Now there's no way to salvage this. He didn’t mean it like _that_ , or in a depreciative way. But now he’s thinking back to his words, Keith realises how it might have sounded. Desperately backtracking, because he’s had a nice time and he doesn’t want to completely _ruin this_ whilst it’s still okay, Keith holds up a hand placatingly. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this at all. Maybe it was a bad idea. Nothing ever lasts. Of course.

“Allura, I didn’t - I just meant that you’re your own person, too. Being a Princess doesn’t make you special. But that doesn’t mean you’re not.”

Looking over her shoulder, Allura nods politely. There’s gratitude in her expression, and unspeakable kind that Keith doesn’t need to hear to understand. Perhaps he hasn’t messed up. Maybe he did say the right thing, after all.

“As are you. Keith,” reaching over to clasp his shoulder, the angle is awkward but she’s determined to make it work, Allura’s eyes narrow. There it is, that unabated obstinacy. A persistent encouragement. “You are more than simply a paladin of Voltron.”

Despite the intensity of her words, the way she pours her entire being into making this convincing, Keith honestly doesn’t know what he can say back to that. He wasn’t looking for praise or flattery in return for trying to comfort Allura. But here they are, and it’s extended between them naturally. Only, it’s a hand he can’t shake, a deal he can’t make. Not without potentially insulting Allura by rejecting the words, because _she’s wrong_.

Keith _is_ a paladin of Voltron. And that’s all he is. Voltron is his purpose, the one thing that defines and truly embodies what he stands for. Becoming a paladin finally took every meandering path and pushed them together in a direction that made so much sense. Piloting Red is natural, intuitive. They click without needing words, soaring through asteroids at highspeeds. It’s exhilarating. To fly without limits and _reach_ further than he ever thought he could. Everything he has found here in the castle is everything he had foolishly once hoped for. Keith is a paladin. That’s all he is, and right now _that’s okay._

Or, it _was._ Now that’s threatened, potentially _sabotaged_ by himself.

So Keith doesn’t respond to Allura’s words. Nothing he says will be the truth, and Keith isn’t a liar especially for the sake of himself. Grabbing the hair-tie from Platt, momentarily forgiven for stealing the knife and almost _exposing everything_ , he fastens the braid. With one final pat, Keith moves away to inspect the braid from a distance. It looks pretty good. As Allura tries to inspect what she can of it, she beams. Keith’s work here is done. The hiccup in their chat is set aside, to his relief.

“It appears you have many hidden talents, Keith.”

Shrugging, Keith’s lips snare a growing smile. It’s in that moment that Shiro walks back into the room. All of Keith’s attention spins rapidly to the doorway.

“Shiro! Did you do it?” Keith leaps to his feet, absently holding a hand out for Allura. She takes it after a moment of hesitation, brushing herself down. Instantly beside him, her demeanour shifts from a hint of leniency to something more executive. Her posture straightens, hands pressed by her sides with natural elegance. The epitome of a regal, enviable composure is swathed over her. Keith realises she is becoming more of a Princess, placing the weight of the crown on her head and taking the weight of her position in her stride.

“We don’t need to worry about Zarkon and the black lion anymore.” Keith’s expression softens, pride swelling within him.

“I knew it,” he says without an ounce of hesitation. “I knew you’d do it.”

Allura steps forwards confidently.

“As did I. Congratulations, Shiro.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, we still don’t-” Raising an eyebrow, Shiro trails off as he glances between the pair of them. Realisation settles upon him as he looks back at Keith. Then behind him for emphasis, evidently noting the absence of the rest of the team. “You... didn’t go on the mission with the others?”

Keith feels something hot and visceral in his chest plummet downwards to push him off a ledge he thought he’d finally missed. It’s a drastic descent, sinking deeper and gnawing away at the tiny residues of relief that had begun to unfurl. Shiro’s words bring his attention back to what is important, what _always_ is so important. The mission. This entire time he’s spent with Allura and the mice he hasn’t even thought once about what he could’ve been doing instead. That’s rare. _Selfish._

Pursing his lips, Keith ducks his head. Shame rises up inside him, a sharp kind that prods uncomfortably in his throat and nestles itself right there. He _should’ve_ been on that pod. He missed not only a chance at answers, but following through with a mission. An apology dances on his lips, only to be stifled as Shiro’s hand presses firmly into his shoulder. Keith gasps as he sinks into it, chasing the grounding force Shiro continues to resonate.

“It’s for the best you stayed.” Smiling warmly, Shiro surveys his face carefully. His eyes settle on Keith’s with something so sincere it’s cutting and Keith isn’t sure he deserves it. Not with something so destructive hooked to his belt, a symbol that has too much power over him. “You’re looking much better for it, I’m glad.”

_Oh._

Even in the face of his own struggles, Shiro still worries about Keith, still picks up on the tiny details hidden to most prying eyes. That’s unsettling. Shiro gives so much to everyone and everything. He shouldn’t give it to Keith when he has yet to give himself an inch. Nodding weakly, Keith steps out of Shiro’s grasp. The motion is a little too abrupt, and Shiro doesn’t see it coming. There’s a slow drag of fingers, almost hopeful that Keith won’t slip away more than he already is. Keith knows Shiro feels it too, knows Shiro is acutely aware that Keith is withdrawing himself from everything and everyone - _including him_.

But Shiro can’t know why. None of them can. It’s for the best, _for them._   

“So,” clearing his throat, Shiro takes in Allura’s braid. A bemused expression crosses over his face. His eyes flicker over to Keith, who suddenly finds the floor _fascinating._ “What did you guys get up to?”

“Not much,” Keith settles for.

“That’s top secret, Shiro.” 

Keith chokes on his breath when Allura winks and wags her finger in the most facetious gesture he’s _ever seen_ from her. For a split second, the air of eminence that comes with being the Princess of Altea falters. And with it, Shiro falters - clearly he’s just as caught off guard as Keith. Just when Keith thinks it can’t get anymore bizarre, Allura nudges him with her elbow.

“Right, Keith?”

It’s so silly. Tempting. Grinning, Keith folds his arms across his chest.

“Absolutely,” he says, shocking everyone but mostly himself. Playing along wasn’t part of his plan, but Shiro looks so stunned it’s kind of funny. “Sorry Shiro, but what happens with the mice stays with the mice.”

“That’s fine,” Shiro wields a grin of his own within seconds. “I hear they like to gossip. I’m sure they’ll tell me everything later.”

Before Keith can respond, there’s the sound of footsteps approaching. Soon followed by voices.

“Looks like they’re back,” Allura says, greeting Coran as he steps inside with the scaultrite. Following close behind is Lance, Pidge, Hunk and- _wait what._ Keith blinks, stepping forwards.

“Uh, Is that a ...cow?”

The moo he gets in response confirms that yes. It is a cow.

“How did you get a cow?”

Lance leans against the cow, running a hand through his hair in a way that Keith supposes is meant to be suave and highly performative.

“I got the cow-”

“- _We_ got the cow,” Pidge cuts in.

“Anyway,” moving from the cow, Lance points a finger. It’s accusing. “You wouldn’t even need to ask if you didn’t decide to ditch us!”

“That's not - I didn’t ditch you guys!” Keith protests. Anyone questioning or even _inferring_ his priorities aren’t aligned with Voltron immediately is met with the fire of his resolve.

“ _Oh yeah_? Well what were you doing then?”

Meeting Allura’s eyes across the room, Keith is surprised to see she looks amused. Oh. _Oh._ Lips twitching, Keith folds his arms and shakes his head playfully.

“Sorry, I’m sorry but that - it’s -... I - I can’t tell you that.” _What’s that you’re cutting out I can’t - I can’t hear you._

“Oh come on, Keith!” Lance huffs. “Fine if you won't tell me then I'll ask Shiro.”

“Don't ask me. I don’t know,” Shiro replies voice breaking over a poorly suppressed laugh. “The mice haven’t told me yet.”

Lance seems to think Shiro is joking, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation, which has Keith stifling his own laughter. _It’s true. It’s actually true and Shiro isn’t making that up._ Turning to Allura, Lance saunters over. “ _Allura-”_ Keith bites down a smile as she meets his eyes mischievously.

“Sorry Lance, I’m afraid it’s top secret.”


End file.
